The Saffron Connection

She slammed the garage door shut and jumped into the driver’s seat of the SUV. Screeching her tyres she made for the main road leading into the village – or newly decreed town as her neighbours often reminded her. Distressed and dazed she headed for her husband’s factory. There was no traffic at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning so she arrived in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t there. As to be expected, his car was not parked in front of the smart glass entrance of the factory. Perhaps she had hoped until the very last minute that he had been telling the truth. She tore the steering wheel around and headed for the place she suspected him to be. Parking at the rear of the building gave her the advantage of a surprise entrance. They had not locked the back door to the small hotel. Guests could expect to be granted access at all times. She hurried to the front part of the building where the restaurant remained closed until just before lunch. Thrusting the sliding door to one side she saw them. His trousers were strewn on the floor next to his jacket and shirt. Ridiculously he still wore his socks. They sat up in surprise as she stared at them from the open doorway. She said no word but abruptly turned away. Back to her car and back home before she started screaming uncontrollably.